


Fireworks

by ellerean



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9137542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellerean/pseuds/ellerean
Summary: New Year's Eve in Russia is a grand event, with banquets and celebrations and endless supplies of food and drink.Victor Nikiforov has other plans.





	

**Author's Note:**

> "I should write a New Year's fic," she says, every day before New Year's Eve.
> 
> Here's a sappy little ditty to celebrate.

He wouldn’t want to subject anyone to Russian winters, if he’d had any choice in the matter. Japan was quaintly cold, if one could consider that a winter—with a _hot spring_ in your own backyard—but looking at Yuuri now, Victor almost regretted caving to his pleas of New Year’s in Russia.

“How are you feeling, Yuuri?”

“Great!” His voice was muffled beneath two scarves and the collar of his jacket. His glasses were perpetually fogged by his breath. “You get used to the cold!”

It was still too early for New Year’s parties, but Victor dragged him to the sights anyway. Palace Square was set up for the evening’s festivities, with road barriers and official personnel already flitting about. But it didn’t stop Yuuri from stopping in the middle of the road, wiping his glasses on his scarf again as he took in the panoramic view. And when they walked over the bridge, Yuuri stopped to ask after everything—the Winter Palace. The Kunstkamera. In the distance, the Trinity Bridge.

“It is another bridge, Yuuri,” Victor said, his laughter alone proving he was merely teasing, again. Yuuri had leaned over the guardrail, gazing into the Neva River like he had never seen a river before. Already the water was beginning to freeze; chunks of ice drifted by lazily. Victor held him around the waist, a support to keep him rooted to earth.

“Does the river freeze?” Yuuri asked.

“You cannot skate on the Neva.” Victor smiled. “I will bring you to Ohta Park.”

But Yuuri was disinterested in future plans—even if they included romantic skating through the forest—leaning into Victor’s embrace, nuzzling his supposedly not-cold face in the crook of Victor’s neck.

It was ten below zero, but warmth crawled up into Victor’s cheeks.

They walked along the river, and through St. Petersburg. Victor showed him the places where he’d often go for lunch, and the shops where he bought most of his clothes. Yuuri had seen foreign cities, and he’d experienced winding through unknown streets. But world travel was still a new concept, this travel outside the skating rink. It was in Yuuri’s silent moments that Victor knew he was thinking, that he was taking it all in. He was less interested in palaces and the university, focusing more on the mundane details—quieting when Victor stopped before this café, bragging that they had the best coffee. Or that liquor store, which marked up their prices too much.

Restaurants had their doors wide open despite the outside temperature, urging them inside with twinkling, colored lights and music. Yuuri glanced inside but had little interest in entering any of them. They’d had a late lunch, but Victor’s mouth watered when catching a whiff of the familiar New Year’s Eve banquets—the blend of beets and pickled vegetables, of roasted meats and fish. Voices and laughter were ringing out from the restaurants, gathered together to celebrate into the night.

“It is tradition,” Victor began, “to celebrate New Year’s in Russia as others celebrate Christmas.” They turned onto a side street, too narrow to fit any sort of vehicle. “These places, they will serve food all night. If you are able to stay awake”—he winked—“there will be fireworks over the Neva.”

“Of course we will stay up!” Yuuri replied. He looked around the closed doors of the alley, and the distinct lack of festive glee off the main road. “Are we going out, Victor?”

He tapped his lips, like he had to consider it. “In a fashion. But first . . .”

It was fun to stop short when holding hands, to watch Yuuri stumble backward when he was caught off-guard. He rebalanced himself beautifully, almost like a pirouette when he spun around, though he was less skilled at gliding over stone in his sneakers. It was still new for Victor to wrap his arms around his waist, and an oddity that Yuuri allowed the kiss between them. Victor reminded himself that Yuuri was no longer the young man at his parents’ hot spring, who’d scurried away and furiously blushed when provoked. Who'd tried to impress Victor simply because he was Victor Nikiforov, living legend. Now it was Yuuri who leaned in for the kiss first, hungry and excited to be bound to . . . whatever Yuuri considered him to be. Idol, coach, fiancé? Yuuri’s arms were around his neck, gently pulling him down for the kiss. _Victor is Victor_ , he’d once said, a very Japanese thing to say, he’d first thought.

 _But Yuuri is Yuuri_ , he silently agreed, understanding now the improbability of labeling him.

He cupped the back of Yuuri’s head, to protect it from the brick wall he leaned against. He was accustomed to Yuuri’s panting following a routine, but was still not used to this breathe-through-the-nose _gasp_ while their lips were locked. Yuuri’s glasses were sliding down his nose, and Victor pressed his face closer to nudge them back up. The cold had seeped into his bones, but there was a fine sheen of sweat on his exposed skin.

Yuuri leaned back with a gasp, a different sort of panting than Victor was used to seeing on the ice.

Victor swallowed, forcing a casual smile. “Now you can say you have kissed me in St. Petersburg,” he said.

Yuuri adjusted his glasses, his cheeks aflame. “I— I’ll put that on the list.”

There was a gust of wind when they emerged from the alley, the kind that chilled the bones despite the layers of padding. One doesn’t “get used” to the cold, not on his first New Year’s in Russia. Victor snaked an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. It was a small marvel how someone could feel warm, even as he's shivering, how he can smile as he removes his glasses to wipe off the fog again. Yuuri's arm slid around his waist, now the obnoxious couple taking up too much space on the sidewalk. Forcing others to go around them, not that others cared too much—they also walked in pairs, or in groups, with the occasional single willingly stepping out of the way for them all.

“Victor!”

Victor grinned. He had planned for Yuuri to see it first, to be the first of them to mention when they rounded the corner to the skating rink. It was only skating that could force Yuuri to break away from him, rushing up to the front doors to peek inside. By the time Victor caught up to him, Yuuri had already tried the doors to discover they were locked. He held both handles in his gloved hands, leaned back like that would urge them open.

“It is closed for New Year’s,” Victor said, rummaging through his pocket. Yuuri mournfully pressed a gloved hand to the glass door, squinting into the dark building. But Victor bumped his hip, nudging him out of the way, as he procured a key from the depths of his jacket pocket.

Yuuri’s eyes widened.

“Do you think I would not have a key to the rink?” He smiled, fitting the key into the lock. The same way he had always fit the key into the lock, turning it slowly like he unwrapped a gift. Yuuri stood beside him, bouncing on his toes, from either the cold or excitement. There was no holding him back when Victor swung open the front doors.

It was a skating rink, like any other rink. Yuuri leaned over the wall that separated the floor from the ice, staring at its shiny surface as Victor flipped on the lights. He hadn’t turned around. He hadn't seen anything in the dark, save the skating rink.

“This is where you learned,” Yuuri marveled.

Victor wrapped both arms around his waist. “I have learned in many rinks,” he replied. “But this is home.” He kissed Yuuri’s temple. “But there is more.”

“Hmm?” Yuuri turned. “What are you—”

It wasn’t much, Victor thought now. The small New Year’s Eve banquet, the table spread with his favorite holiday foods. He would have to be nice to Yakov for the next several years, or at least the people Yakov had hired to set up the meal. The roasted pig was still steaming hot, and the bread warm from the oven. Yuuri flitted around the table, examining each of the dishes up close, but not remaining at one very long before hurrying to the next. It was unlikely that he recognized any of it. Victor had not yet introduced him to the beetroot salad, or the red caviar. But he smiled, reaching beneath the table for a bottle of vodka. The  _snap_ of the seal breaking echoed over the empty rink.

Yuuri looked up, immediately zeroing in on the liquor. “I . . . uh . . .”

“It is a celebration,” Victor said, pouring two shots of vodka. “If you celebrate New Year's in Russia, you celebrate as the Russian celebrate.” Victor lifted his shot glass in a toast, waiting for Yuuri to pick up his own. He did so carefully, sniffing it first. His eyes went wide, his nose scrunched. “To a successful new year,” Victor said.

Yuuri clinked their glasses together. “And to gold,” he added.

He’d almost forgotten the burn of vodka on the way down, the way the warmth spiked in his belly. Yuuri sputtered, coughing as he pounded on his chest.

“Eat the bread!” He laughed. “There is plenty when there is drinking.”

But Yuuri set down his shot glass, not yet daring to break into the spread of food. “Are we skating?”

When Victor kissed his mouth, he tasted of vodka. It was warm, and it stung, and Victor held the kiss in reply longer than necessary. The buttons of his coat were being unfastened, and not by his own hand. “We will skate,” Victor whispered, “we will celebrate, and then we will see the fireworks.”

Outside the rink, every restaurant was open and every home preparing the evening meal. Families were packed together in living rooms, and bottles of liquor were being drained. Inside the rink, Victor's fiancé moved soundlessly across the ice. Victor laced up his own skates, and tossed back a shot of water. Yuuri spun around, facing him, waiting. His body long and lean, his feet poised like he was ready to begin. It would be a quieter New Year's for Victor, and he smiled as he followed onto the ice.

**Author's Note:**

> ([Here on tumblr](http://ellereanwrites.tumblr.com/post/155224204338).)


End file.
